


Grey Areas

by prototyping



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Gen, Injury Recovery, Post-Canon, and bros being the momfriend, bros being bros, genfic, rusty muses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-14 20:26:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14143884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prototyping/pseuds/prototyping
Summary: It’s the first time Flynn’s seen him come out of a confrontation looking worse than the other guy. [Yuri + Flynn, post-game.]





	Grey Areas

“Guess I should be grateful they didn’t make a spectacle out of it, huh.” The lighthearted tone is, in itself, where the sarcasm lies. The words don’t reflect any pain or anger -- just cold indifference messily overlapped with disdain, but that’s the most dangerous mindset to come out of someone like Yuri Lowell.

Flynn knows it, at least. His frown manages to deepen even after being permanently set for the last few hours, but he doesn’t answer until he’s sat down on the edge of the bed and set the bucket of water on the floor between his feet. “Small mercies.”

Yuri grunts. The lack of a joke, or at least a jab, is telling. He’s sitting on the floor, elbows on the bed and fingers laced behind his head to hold his hair up. His bloody shirt has been tossed aside, stained more with his pride than anything else; peeling it away from his wounds was messy and clearly painful, but as he said, he refused to be a spectacle. More than likely, Flynn knew, he did so to keep anyone from worrying on his wobbly, assisted trek back to the inn.

The urge is there to reprimand him, to snap at him, to insist that he _knows better_ and could have avoided this if he really wanted, but it’s a passing notion that Flynn easily smothers. Even though it would come from genuine concern on his end, Yuri’s been through enough wordy lectures today. Instead, Flynn just dips a rag in the bucket, wrings it out, and gives a brief word of warning before pressing it gently to the top of Yuri’s back, along the first of (too) many bloody lashes.

The muscles in his friend’s shoulders immediately tense, but he doesn’t make a sound. For a minute they sit in silence, until Flynn goes to wet the rag again.

“Really missing those healing artes right about now,” Yuri quips. It’s probably meant as a quip, anyway, but it mostly comes out as a grumble.

Flynn smiles grimly. “This is the easy part,” he reminds him. “Don’t fall apart on me just yet.” Yuri only snorts, but quietly enough that he doesn’t disturb his injuries. Another pause follows, but it’s a thoughtful one from Flynn. He already knows what Yuri will say, but he tries regardless: “I’m sure Lady Estellise would--”

“Forget it.”

“Yuri--”

“You’d really ask a lady to travel across the country just to patch up some idiot’s slap on the wrist? Tsk, Flynn, you’re gonna sully your good ‘Knight in Shining Armor’ name.”

Flynn doesn’t hide the exasperated scowl in his throat. “ ‘Slap on the wrist?’ At least you’re feeling well enough to act tough.”

“Could’ve been worse.” Yuri’s response is surprisingly serious, but his bangs hide his eyes at this height and Flynn can only guess at his expression. “The way I hear it, some people barely leave that chopping block alive.”

That gives Flynn pause. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard, either, but he can connect the dots in Yuri’s train of thought and he doesn’t like where it’s going. The urge to lecture rises again, but he reminds himself _Later_ and after a moment settles for a flat, “...Guild life, huh.”

Yuri catches the undertone. He tilts his head just enough to look at Flynn proper. “Do something wrong, get caught, get punished? Sounds like life to me, yeah.”

Flynn succeeds in holding back a sigh, but it comes through in his tone regardless. “And since when do you take that lying down?”

“Since someone was quick enough to catch me.” Yuri shifts his weight slightly, wincing. “You know… I was thinking before that you sure picked a fine time to visit Dahngrest. But coincidences aren’t really how a Commandant works.”

“...No, they’re not.”

Yuri waits a few seconds for him to expand on that, but to no avail. He gives Flynn as much of a once-over as he can manage in his position, perhaps just now making better sense of his slightly-more-casual state of dress, particularly the lack of his distinguishing armor. He hums in absent amusement. “White knight, indeed.”

“Shut up.” By now the water has turned murky and the rag’s stained beyond repair. A few of the deeper gashes are still bleeding, but not terribly. Crossing the room, Flynn retrieves a pouch and glass bottle and then sits on the floor this time, directly behind Yuri. “So,” he wonders as he twists the cork to open the vodka, “are you going to tell me why you broke the rules and interfered with another guild?”

“You were at that little mockery of a trial, weren’t you?”

“Long enough to tell you were lying through your teeth.”

“Practicing my right to remain silent isn’t lying.”

This time Flynn does sigh, heavily, as he tilts the contents of the pouch carefully into the bottleneck. He’s still a little skeptical of this remedy, but it’s presumably the best local treatment for such wounds. “I know perfectly well that you’re stubborn to a fault--”

“Look who’s talking.”

“--but the only time you’re _that_ quiet is when you’re hiding something.”

“Ha. Nice shot.”

“Who were you covering for, Yuri?” For a long moment the only sound is the quiet _swish_ of liquid as Flynn swirls the bottle, making sure the herbs mix in well with the alcohol. “...Fine, forget who. But can I ask why?” Yuri still doesn’t answer.

Pulling the clean towel from his shoulder, Flynn doubles it over to douse it with the strong-smelling mixture. He moves onto one knee and braces his left arm across Yuri’s shoulders -- not to pin him, but to help absorb some of his movement. “This is going to hurt. Get ready.”

Yuri’s general disposition and high pain threshold are only partially helpful: he goes rigid when the towel’s applied to his back, his jaw setting tightly to strangle his shout into a snarl. Flynn waits for him to ride it out, and then gives him a couple minutes to recover before doing the same to the lower part of his torso.

“Y’know--” Yuri pants, his voice strained, “it’s not so bad -- when I think -- this is all just -- overdue. Kind of a… rite of passage.” Flynn spares him a puzzled glance, wondering if the pain’s really so bad that he’s actually delirious, but Yuri’s dropped his head forward onto the mattress. He chuckles darkly. “Heh… karma catching up to me, I guess… Finally…”

Flynn goes still. As much as he wants to rebuke that, he forces himself to stay silent, for now, and focus on the task at hand. Not until minutes later, after he’s carefully patted Yuri dry as well as he’s able and started wrapping him with bandages, does he speak.

“You know... if you weren’t already miserable, Yuri, I’d kick your ass.”

Yuri snickers skeptically from where he’s still facedown in the bed, but it’s a dead sound.

“It’s one thing if you took the fall for someone because you thought it was the right thing to do. But if you did this thinking you _deserved_ it--” He stops before his voice can get too loud or too hot -- but Yuri says nothing during the pause, gives no indication that his guess is wrong or at least slightly off the mark, and that hurts in more ways than Flynn can count.

So even now, the reality of his past and actions still weigh on Yuri's mind. It's a bitter sort of relief; it's preferable to his feeling nothing at _all_ , Flynn thinks -- total apathy would be the biggest cause for alarm, the most obvious warning that the Yuri he knows isn’t the Yuri he’s _known_ \-- but this isn’t _good_ , either.

But then, it’s easy for Flynn to say that one feeling is better than another when he isn’t the one in bloody tatters, or the one bearing that guilt.

(At least, not that kind of guilt. As self-righteous as he figures it probably sounds, he does still carry the dark, _what-if_ thoughts reminding him that he did nothing to help Yuri with that burden.)

His sigh is a gentle one this time. He lightly presses a fist against Yuri’s lower back, away from any risk of agitating a wound, in a gesture meant to ground his thoughts as well as emphasize his presence. “Yuri. The purpose of the law and its sentences isn’t to punish those who do wrong -- it’s to protect those who would suffer because of them. Punishments serve as a deterrent to selfish ways of thinking; they’re a warning to those who would harm others, and a way of changing or removing those who already have, in the best interest of the people at large. Justice is fair, not petty.”

Yuri still doesn’t respond, so Flynn goes on, “You know better than anyone that life isn’t black and white. But going out and _looking_ for punishment over something you can’t change isn’t justice. It’s just trying to make yourself feel better.” His hand falls away and he climbs to his feet. “And it’s a pretty crappy way of doing it.” As tempted as he is to say more, he refrains. Yuri’s already a mess, probably inside as well as out, and there’s no need to pile it on too thick. For now, at least.

He gathers the used supplies and begins cleaning up the small mess. The silence lasts about half a minute.

“...Hey.”

He turns to see Yuri watching him -- still looking beat and exhausted and pretty pathetic, but at least he managed to turn his head. “Do me a favor,” he asks.

“What’s that?”

“I’m too tired to punch you properly, so please, kindly hit your face against my fist and save me the trouble.” When Flynn shoots him a skeptical look, Yuri rolls his face back into the mattress with a mumble. “I hate when you lecture. I especially hate it when you win arguments.”

Flynn’s smile is a wry one. “Someone has to keep your ego in check.”

“Funny.” After another long moment, Yuri looks at him again. “...Look, don’t go blowing this up into a bigger deal than it is. I had a reason for doing what I did. The karma thing… well, it crossed my mind at the time, but it wasn’t the only reason.”

“It shouldn’t be _any_ rea--”

“I know, I know. You’re right,” Yuri interrupts wearily. “I mean, just don’t get it in your head that I’m gonna make a habit out of this. Not enough skin on my back for that.”

Flynn grunts lightly. “As long as you’re aware.”

“Yes, _sir_.” Yuri’s sarcasm fades as he adds, “...Hey. Thanks, though.”

Now Flynn’s smile is genuine, although still teasing. “For the lecture?”

“Eh. Could’ve been shorter and more eloquent. But I appreciate the effort.”

Shaking his head, Flynn goes to sit down on the bed again. “Right--”

_“Agh!”_

Flynn’s on his feet again in a heartbeat. “Sorry! I didn’t--”

“Heh. You’re so easy.”

“ _Dammit_ , Yuri--”


End file.
